I set down my battered copy
Of Jane Eyre
You look and laugh
As I try to be honest
I try to tell you why
I love you
Why I hate being with you
Why every breath of you
Is supreme ectasy
Mingled with death

You get up to get coffee
My words follow like a puppy
My statements break to questions
As you sip and stare
Ruining my resolve

I beg you to listen
I plead with you to hear
My tears are heavy and
Lacking any strength
I ask you again

Your only answer is
To tell me it will be fine
And ask if we can talk
After the game.

12/27/2002

Author's Note: My mother and father inspired this poem a few Mondays ago.

Posted on 12/27/2002
Copyright © 2024 Beth K Hannah